


My Name

by Amikotsu



Series: Whumptober Prompts [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Blindness, Blood Loss, Delirium, Head Injury, M/M, Memory Loss, Psychological Trauma, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 08:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20888816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amikotsu/pseuds/Amikotsu
Summary: Shisui moved away from Kakashi and rested his back against the tree. He pulled his knees up toward his chest and rested his forearms there. Maybe he’d already died. Maybe he’d never made it away from the water. Shisui found it harder and harder to decipher thoughts and feelings. He remembered his name, only to doubt himself. But Kakashi was there.





	My Name

**Author's Note:**

> This might seem confusing and a bit choppy, but I decided to bounce around and shift focus a lot, since the main character has a head injury. Be warned.

Shisui. The name came to him from the darkest recesses of his mind, sliding in and out of focus so many times that he lost count. He couldn’t remember his name, couldn’t remember anything after his morning meeting with the Hokage, but he had something. He had Shisui. Feeling returned to him moments after the name had receded, and the pain washed over him, dozens of stabbing pains coming from all directions. He knew he had to identify the areas; he needed to assess the situation, and that started with first aid. When he felt the anxiety building in his gut, he forced himself to focus, to concentrate. One step at a time, Shisui. Something wet hit his feet, enveloping one while sparing the other. He felt the liquid sliding between his toes, the pace of the water surprisingly calm. Frowning, he struggled to get an image of himself. He only had one sandal, something that had him groaning. His mother was going to kill him. She’d bought him a new pair of sandals just last week. Yes, he remembered that! He remembered the look on her face when he begged her to buy him new sandals, even though he made more money on his missions than she did with his father’s pension. Because he was -- he couldn’t remember his age, and forcing himself through a multitude of older memories made his head ache, so he filed that question away for later. He had one sandal. He could work with that. Shisui curled and uncurled his toes, deciding that he had full control over them, that he had all ten of them, and then he tested his ankles. The left was injured, most likely twisted, rather than broken. His left knee burned, but moving his toes and testing his ankles left him exhausted. He needed to rest, just for a minute.

He must have fallen asleep. (He refused to acknowledge that he’d been unconscious, that he could have died there.) The warmth from earlier in the day had bled away, leaving him a shivering mess. He didn’t stop to continue the routine check he’d begun earlier in the day; he placed his palms flat on the ground, crushing the grass down to the earth, and pushed himself up and away from the cold water rushing over his feet. He groaned in pain and fell back down, his head hitting the ground, irritating an old wound. He reached up to touch his temple first and felt something warm along his hairline and down along his jaw, then he moved a shaking hand to the back of his head and felt the same type of warmth. Head injury. What was his name again?

He activated his sharingan and an overwhelming, stabbing pain originated in his eye sockets and overtook his entire head. He muffled a scream that left his throat tight and his chest aching, then he threw both hands up to cover his closed eyes. One finger touched his right eyelid; one finger touched his left eyelid. Someone had stolen his eyes. The realization passed over him with a sudden chill, and he felt the cold race along his spine. He poked and prodded the edges of his empty eye sockets, as if his rising anxiety and his need to touch, touch, touch, would make them reappear, would get them back from his attacker. He’d been attacked. Hadn’t he been attacked? What was his name again? 

He took a breath, shoulders already shaking in anticipation of the breakdown, and then he fell apart. He gripped the blades of grass, tearing patches of green from the ground and throwing it in random directions. When he tired of throwing grass, he tugged at his own hair. He didn’t care that his motions aggravated his injuries, injuries he couldn’t really explain. Shisui. That’s right. He was Shisui. How could he have forgotten? He was outside, near water, missing one sandal but still clad in his jonin uniform. Someone had taken his eyes and left him for dead. Laughter bubbled up, rising up from the very bottom of his gut and overtaking the quiet of the night. He rested both hands atop his stomach, fingers interlaced, and laughed himself right into another breakdown, another round of violence, another round of shaking shoulders and sweaty palms. He was sweating so much, too much, and something told him that was bad. He needed to move. He didn’t know where he needed to go, couldn’t remember where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t stay there. Staying meant dying, and he wasn’t ready to die. He was Shisui, and Shisui didn’t just throw his life away. Well, he didn’t think Shisui threw his life away, at least. What was his name again? 

He rolled over onto his right side and pushed himself to a seated position, but he felt dizzy, as if the whole world were shifting around him, burning and blossoming as he sat there, trying his hardest not to throw up all over himself. Someone had to know him. Someone had to look for him. But he couldn’t stay there. He would stay there. He curled his fingers around his messy hair and squeezed and tugged, trying to ground himself, even though his mind screamed at him to keep going, to keep making decisions. Staying meant something, but he couldn’t remember the rest of the words. He’d thought that staying meant something, and yet his mind gave him a blank space for a word he couldn’t remember existing. He needed help. He needed someone to find him. No, he needed to find someone. 

Without the sharingan, he relied heavily on his sensory abilities, which were lacking. He wasn’t a tracker, he didn’t have summons that could track, so he relied on feeling for chakra signatures around his area. He stopped multiple times, his mind focused on sensing and then drifting into memories of Sasuke’s birthday party. Who was Sasuke to him? He had a little brother, didn’t he? Shisui hit his head, as if he were simply bumping a radio that had poor reception. He just needed a little jolt, something to get his mind back on track, and then he was sensing again. He didn’t know how he ended up on his feet, forcing himself to take step after step. He couldn’t see, but he knew that he could find his way, somehow. When his foot caught on something, he tipped forward and fell onto his hands and knees. He hit his head again, because he needed to abuse himself a little more, just to make up for the nice sleep he’d had earlier. His chest ached, the throb almost operating in time with his heartbeat, and then he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get enough oxygen. Shisui clawed at his chest until he found the zipper for his jonin vest, and then he was ripping it off, throwing it aside, trying to free himself, trying to find the oxygen. In the midst of his proverbial freefall, he heard a voice and felt something wet slide up along the back of his right hand. 

“A dog?” Shisui liked the sound of his voice, so he whispered the question again. The dog placed its chin on his outstretched palm, just for a moment, and Shisui felt hot breath along his wrist. “If this is some kind of sign, I’m hungry, but I’m not eating a dog,” Shisui mumbled, head tilting back as if to look up at the dark sky. The dog huffed and Shisui’s attention shifted from the world he couldn’t see to the dog. “Help a guy out. Go find me someone,” Shisui managed to say, even though the short, one-sided conversation left him fighting for consciousness. Shisui felt the tongue on his hand again, then the dog left him, left him in the way that his attacker had left him. The dog just left him to die. And Shisui wondered if he were ready to die yet, if he was going to be that type of person, after all.

He lost consciousness again, because he woke up to a paw pressed against his head. He’d managed to lean against a tree, and he’d let his head fall, his chin resting against his chest. The dog pawed at him two more times, and the irritation alone had Shisui raising his head. He wanted to yell that he was awake, that he was alert, but none of that mattered when he sensed the chakra signature quickly approaching his location. He recognized the chakra signature, but he couldn’t find a name or a face. He could piece together enough to know that he would recognize the person by voice, and voice alone. The dog rested a paw on Shisui’s leg, as if to signal the approaching person.

“What happened?” 

He knew that voice. Taichou! That was his ANBU captain. His mind supplied him with a stream of memories, of missions they’d completed together. Shisui remembered their trip to Yugakure and how they’d almost caused a political nightmare when they’d poisoned the wrong target. He remembered the light feeling in his chest when the man praised him. Oh, he thought to himself, he had feelings for him. Shisui smiled, the expression alone causing his head to ache. He was cold again, freezing, so he used his last bit of energy to throw himself forward and into the man’s arms. What was his name again? 

“Man, I’m glad to see you,” Shisui joked, his voice breathy, “not that I can see much of anything.” Not another breakdown. Please, not another breakdown. But his shoulders were shaking and the darkness around him seemed to crack and shudder along with his shoulders. “I’m going to die here, aren’t I?”

“I’m not going to let you die,” the man replied, his tone sharp and full of determination. Shisui snorted, because he didn’t know what to say. There were words in his head, but he didn’t think they were words the man wanted to hear. The fluttery feeling he’d associated with the man had resurfaced and whispered to him that he should spend his last moments on a love confession. He snorted again, that time at his thoughts. “We need to get you back to the village. Pakkun, go on ahead.”

“He didn’t even comment on my soft paws, and I wasted two licks on him. He tastes like the Naka River, Kakashi,” the dog spoke. Shisui inhaled sharply, but the man in front of him took it to mean something entirely different. Naka River. Kakashi. Shisui raised his hands to rub at the throbbing points on his head, but Kakashi swatted his hands aside. “Hurry up. He doesn’t look good,” the dog said, its own way of bidding them goodbye. 

“So you’re Kakashi?” He heard a few twigs snap, and then there were hands in his. Kakashi helped Shisui to his feet, but they stayed that way, holding hands, until Kakashi broke the silence.

“You don’t remember me?” Shisui remembered bits and pieces, like the memory of his mother buying him sandals. He remembered Kakashi’s ANBU mask. Hound. What was his name? Bear. Owl. Cat. Monkey. Shisui went through random animals, trying to summon some memory of himself. When he couldn’t, he screamed in frustration. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t know,” Shisui whispered, his voice small and broken. Kakashi touched his face, fingers brushing over his closed eyes, one thumb lowering to trace along his bottom lip. “I don’t want to die here, Kakashi,” Shisui managed to say, the words leaving him tired again. Even though Kakashi supported him, he had nothing left to give, so he slid down the tree, the rough bark scraping against his back as he went down. Why weren’t they moving? Why wasn’t Kakashi carrying him away? What was his name? “You’re not really here.”

“I’m right here. You can hear my voice,” Kakashi answered him. Shisui laughed, the sound harsh and bitter to his ears. He didn’t sound like himself. Kakashi pulled him into an embrace, wrapping his arms around him, agitating scrapes and bruises. Shisui needed the contact. “He’ll be back with help.”

“You were supposed to follow him. You’re supposed to take me to the village. Where do we live, Kakashi?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s my name, Kakashi?”

“I don’t know.”

Shisui moved away from Kakashi and rested his back against the tree. He pulled his knees up toward his chest and rested his forearms there. Maybe he’d already died. Maybe he’d never made it away from the water. Shisui found it harder and harder to decipher thoughts and feelings. He remembered his name, only to doubt himself. But Kakashi was there. Kakashi had to be there! One thought rose to the surface, clearer than any other thought, brighter, louder. He’d survived the fall. The river hadn’t killed him. He’d managed to survive, and he’d washed up somewhere downstream. Shisui inhaled sharply, the momentary clarity slowly slipping away. His realization was lost, buried in another mountain of questions he couldn’t answer. Kakashi wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Shisui laughed again. He laughed because he couldn’t find the strength to cry.

“I’m going to die here,” Shisui repeated, the words one endless stream. He couldn’t make sense of the sentence anymore, not when it went on and on, a never-ending line, an infinite loop. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t know,” the man answered, brushing a hand through Shisui’s messy hair. Shisui leaned into the touch. He needed something to keep him together. “Why is it so cold?” The question confused Shisui, for a number of reasons, all of which slipped away, as if sliding right through his fingers. Shisui reached out to touch the man’s face and his fingers met cloth. He caressed the masked face.

“It’s not usually this cold in Konoha,” Shisui replied, his words almost stopping his heart. He felt the man’s lips move, the corners tipped up for a smile. They lived in Konohagakure. “Where is Konoha?” Shisui reached, fingers searching for the edge of the mask, searching for the flaw in his world. When his fingertips hooked under the edge of the mask, he slowly dragged the mask down the man’s face. “What is your name?”

“Kakashi,” the man said, lips brushing against Shisui’s fingertips. Shisui had kissed Kakashi once, albeit not directly on the lips. Shisui had tried surprising Kakashi and ended up falling out of the tree and landing on the man. Their lips met, but the mask had been in the way. Shisui had loved that memory. “I can help you get back to Konoha,” Kakashi said, the words soft.

“How?”

“Flare your chakra.”

“Kakashi, what if there are enemy shinobi in the area? I can’t fight them off. You’re,” Shisui trailed off, lips parting for forgotten words. Kakashi kissed his palm and he struggled to make sense of the words and images flying through his mind. What was his name? “I don’t remember the code. There’s a code. Don’t let me die here,” Shisui said, words rushed, heart beating out of his chest. Kakashi kissed his wrist, teeth brushing along the sensitive skin. “I want to see you again,” Shisui whispered.

Shisui flared his chakra, and Kakashi left him. They’d been touching, Shisui clinging to each kiss, and then Kakashi had disappeared. Determined, Shisui kept flaring his chakra. He didn’t know the code, not all of it, but he tried. He was a genius. He was a prodigy. He put everything he had into every well-calculated burst, and then he collapsed onto his side. One forearm cushioning his head, his other arm stretched out along his side, he tried to curl in on himself, chasing the last bit of heat from his failing body. He felt the chakra signatures approaching, but he had no fight left in him. If they were enemy shinobi, he’d accepted his fate. He couldn’t remember the name of his home, but he remembered trees. He remembered trees stretching up toward the sky, their branches big and strong. Hashirama trees. Because that name meant something to him, even if he couldn’t construct the whole picture. He wondered if Sasuke was waiting for him at home. Sasuke had just had a birthday, and Shisui couldn’t remember getting the boy a gift. He couldn’t remember Sasuke’s age; he couldn’t remember Sasuke’s face. He had a name and nothing more. 

“Shisui!”

That’s right. His name was Shisui.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Shisui was hallucinating. I left it out of the tags because I wanted people to find out along with Shisui. Kakashi's words and actions are based on things that Shisui already knows, so it's basically his mind giving him hints and trying to work around the injury. As for the person calling his name, that's open for a reason. Pretend it's Kakashi. Pretend it's Itachi. :)


End file.
